


all i've ever known is how to hold my own

by opaldawn



Series: a tight-knit family / love is blind [3]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (sort of), Character Study, Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Infodumping, Surprisingly Healthy Coping Mechanisms Thanks To Rita, canon neurodivergent character, heres some more of that dynamic, if you liked it in heart of it all when vespa gave rita the knife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27478237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opaldawn/pseuds/opaldawn
Summary: "Ms. Doctor Ilkay?" Rita sounds almost nervous, quieter in a way that's a little unsettling. "Um. D'you think— are we friends?""Kid."Fuck.What's there for her to say?Of course not, I think your boss and his boyfriend might be planning to crash the ship while we sleep? You give me a headache whenever you open your mouth? Why, just 'cuz you kept me from passing out from oxygen deprivation during a panic attack, well that's nothing a well-trained desert dog can't do?Rita's still looking at her expectantly. And she realizes the truth."I don't know. I dunno if I've— I don't really know what it means to be friends with someone."
Relationships: Buddy Aurinko/Vespa Ilkay, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Rita & Juno Steel, Vespa Ilkay & Rita
Series: a tight-knit family / love is blind [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994527
Comments: 20
Kudos: 90





	all i've ever known is how to hold my own

**Author's Note:**

> SO HERE IT IS. im so very proud of this one. due to a tragic lack of nureyev this fics numbers are bound to be lesser than some of my other works so any comments and kudos are extremely appreciated!!
> 
> WORLDS BIGGEST THANK YOU to adam @dykeacademias for beta'ing and danny @goinghost for sensitivity reader-ing!! check out both of their fics if you like well uhhhh if you like vespa. or really well written stuff. theyre the best
> 
> i the author am not diagnosed with schizophrenia or psychosis but do experience delusions and hallucinations- that said, please please let me know if i've depicted vespa in a hurtful way! 
> 
> content warnings: discussions of canon-typical levels of violence and blood, canon-typical internalized ableism, and a very brief discussion of what constitutes nonhuman cannibalism (i promise it makes sense in context)
> 
> title from the eponymous (am i using that word right?) song from hadestown!

Vespa doesn't know which fucks with her mind more, the bright fluorescent lights in the Carte Blanche's main hallway or the shadows that lurk around the corners where the light doesn't touch. Her head feels like she's used it as a battering ram against the gates of hell, and she has to stop to lean against the wall every few rushed steps, trying to ignore the black lines and dots at the edges of her vision. 

They can't schedule heists around her  _ bad days _ , and she knows that, goddamn it. She guesses she should consider herself lucky that it's one that she's not out in the field for. 

Just.

_ God _ . Days like this, the only thing that makes her feel at all better is burying her face in Buddy's shoulder, letting the shea-butter smell of her hair and the solidness of her arms on her back get at least a little headway against the battalion of worse thoughts. And that's not an option now, is it. Stupid goddamn heist.

Worst part is that she knows she should be checking in with Buddy right about now. She's got the comms in her pocket, earpiece in her ear and everything, could just hit a button and know that her girlfriend's still alive out there. But something's  _ wrong _ in the stupid  _ hallway _ , something's in here and just waiting for the right moment, now that nobody else's on the ship to hear her, just waiting for her to slow down and then that'll be it and goddamn it, Buddy wouldn't want to come back to that, would she. 

So Vespa just keeps walking, hand against the wall. One foot in front of the other. She made it out of that godawful desert, she can make it until seven today when Buddy gets back. When everyone gets back. When it's a little less staticky-quiet and she can blame the footstep sounds at the edge of her awareness on the other crewmates. 

  
  


One of the good things about the Carte Blanche is how many places there are to hide on it. The laundry room isn't her favorite, but it's where she finds herself the next time she really focuses on being a person again, so she folds herself up real small and wedges herself between the two dryers. It's stupid, of course it is, she's not a little  _ kid, _ but on the plus side, the spinning-metal noises are something to focus on, and she breathes in time with them. 

After a few minutes, she pulls out her comms and dials Buddy.

"Ah— hello, love!" She sounds a little breathless, a little stressed, a little… guilty, Vespa almost thinks. It doesn't do wonders for the nervous energy swirling in her stomach. Nor do the footsteps, now coming through the comms, several sets. A chase, obviously.

"Hey, Bud," she tries hard to keep her voice steady. "I call at a bad time? I can get back to you later."

"Don't worry about it, dear, it's always nice to hear your voice. We're doing perfectly all right, everything as according to plan as it ever gets with our lovely family. I'd advise you, however, against turning on the video feed."

A dumb little gasp escapes her before she can stop it. She knows Buddy wouldn't have said something like that if she'd been under less pressure, would've known how much that would set her off. Knows that it's probably nothing, that Buddy would've radioed back for help if it had been anything serious. 

None of that stops her mind from treating her to a movie montage of Buddy, tied up with a knife to her neck. Buddy, lying still on the mansion's marble floor, her red hair framed by a pool of deeper red. Buddy with a blaster hole through her chest, singeing her shirt, or, or, or— she has to focus really hard on not throwing up or, worse, starting to cry. 

_ Shit.  _ She can't do this. Her thumb hovers over the comms' video button, and she jams it down without another moment's hesitation.

It's not as bad as she expected, not conceptually. She barely even understands what she's looking at, at first, most of the screen taken up by Buddy's thumb. She's running, Vespa thinks, hand holding the comms swinging back and forth. On rough concrete ground, metal structures passing by the camera blurry-fast. Definitely not inside the mansion still, but then where?

Vespa doesn't know too much about the planet they've docked on, but still tries to make out any landmarks on screen that could give her some hint of how badly the mission's gone off-track. Something's off about the perspective, though, maybe, that or she's in an area of town with no buildings whatsoever, or…

And then the 'ground' disappears, and Vespa's heart pretty much stops as she  _ finally  _ realizes what she's seeing. As she watches Buddy plant one high-heeled foot on the edge of the highscraper and jump. 

She tosses the comms aside, sends it spinning on the ground. Blinks a couple times. Shakes her head to clear it. She's misunderstood what's happening, that's gotta be it. Saw something else and let her mind run away with it. She can't consider the possibility that it's real, that Buddy's falling, falling, limbs going numb from the speed, screaming and leaving the sound behind in the open air… 

Pressing her eyes closed tightly, she pushes away the memory, then chances a glance back at the screen a few seconds later. 

From what she can see, Buddy's pulling herself into an upright position, starting to run again. "Damn heels," she says, and then, "Vespa, darling, you should at least consider following your captain's orders sometimes."

"What," Vespa tries to say, but her mouth's still dry, brain still fuzzy with shock and relief. 

"The next jump's going to be a bit trickier, love, and as much as I wish I could stay on the line with you, it is  _ imperative _ that I focus here." She sounds like she's trying to convince herself as much as Vespa. "Darling, I'll call you back as soon as I can, but I need you to just stay calm over there. I've made jumps like this many times in the past, trained for it, in fact, and Jet's waiting with Ruby to catch me if—  _ if,  _ Vespa— I should fall. I love you and I'll talk to you very soon." 

She hangs up before Vespa can reply, leaving the unspoken  _ hopefully _ hanging in the air, and, fuck, Vespa hopes that the sound cut off before her first raspy, hyperventilating sob. 

  
  


Time passes differently when she's in a state like this, but the next time she's fully back again, it's been long enough that she's had time to bite clean through her bottom lip, short enough that the dryer's still going. Her hands are clenched over her ears, forming a seal so she can hear her own racing heartbeat, fingers yanking hard at the hair at the back of her head. 

She's been stuck in the same moment for the last who-knows-how-long, that final stumble-step off the edge of the highscraper fifteen years ago. The swooping in her stomach that came calling when she first saw Buddy jump on the comms is still there, but it's joined with a melange of other sensory lies. The smell of blood and laser fire, Buddy's last pained cry, and god, the voices. 

_ Did you hit her— is she down— stunned, she's stunned! get the other one, oh god— where'd she go— hah, just made our job easier, that's gotta be a hundred-fifty feet down— Ms. Vespa, what're you doing down here?— boss told us to bring them in alive!— well too late for that at least we got one of them— someone get Aurinko, make sure she doesn't get away— Ms. Vespa, Ms. Doctor Ilkay, are you okay?— _

That voice. That one. More distinct than the others, less nightmare-y distorted. Kinda shrill, high-pitched, and she recognizes it distantly but can't put a name or face to it. 

Then there's a hand on her shoulder, and hers is on her knife before she knows it. Eight months of practice at being (in some sense of the word)  _ safe  _ is just enough to keep her from swinging it forwards blindly. 

"—a really very sharp-looking knife and I'm real sorry for having bothered you and I can just leave if you want, you just lemme know 'cuz I know I ain't good at guessin' what people want, an' I just came down here to toss my sweater in the wash 'cuz it got ketchup all over it but I can, um, handwash it if you're busy hiding with your knife and everything and, Ms. Doctor Ilkay, are you crying?"

_ Fuck.  _ She swipes rapidly at her face with the heel of her hand. "Go. Away." 

The little hacker just keeps standing there, shifting from foot to foot, looking like she's thinking about something. Analyzing Vespa, probably. Thinking about how messed up it is that her ship's doctor can't keep it together for one mission that she's not even a part of, or how much it sucks living with someone who'd just pull a knife on her just like that. 

Her fingers tighten on the hilt of the knife. "What part of  _ go away  _ didn't you understand? I dunno if I've got the time to patch you up if you  _ somehow _ wind up with a twelve-inch hole in your stomach." It doesn't come out with the usual bite that she thinks her threats usually do, the practiced menace falling flat as her voice and hands shake in rhythm. 

"I'm sorry, Ms. Doctor Ilkay." She doesn't  _ look  _ sorry, not really, doesn't even have that look of pity on her face that people seem to always get talking to her. "It's just that— sometimes Mistah Steel would tell me to go away, and he didn't really mean it but I don't think I always figured that out, not enough anyways, and, and, I know you ain't Mistah Steel—"

"—thank fucking god, yeah—"

"—but I thought maybe it was the same kinda thing, and anyways I. Um." She trails off at the end, biting on one of her nails until the bright purple paint flakes just a little and a chip falls to the floor. 

She doesn't need to be a private eye to know that Rita's waiting for the go-ahead to say something else, probably just about to die from not blurting it out if Vespa knows her. Well, fine; she has to admit (grudgingly, like most stuff she does these days) that out of the three  _ new additions  _ to their crew, Rita's gotta be. God. Not her  _ favorite,  _ but the one she'd most want to have a breakdown with in a shitty little basement laundry room. 

"What is it." Her voice is still flat, but at least it's not tear-choked anymore. Maybe she can pretend that she'd just hit her head, or something.  _ Rita, you know that time that it looked like I was losing it crying in the laundry room? Well, I was just getting in character. Planning on auditioning for a stream when we retire.  _

That's where the little hacker beats Steel or the thief, she thinks. She could just say the word, and Rita would buzz off, would… well, probably not forget the whole thing happened, but never bring it up again. 

"Well." She bounces on the balls of her feet. "I just. I was real worried about Mistah Steel, you know, we known each other so long and he's always gettin' himself into trouble, you should've seen that time with the cat, and he wasn't picking up his calls so I tracked him and he's okay, or at least he's with the others and where they're s'posed to be, but I got... Ms. Vespa, I got  _ lonely,  _ and real worried too and I thought maybe. Well, I thought maybe you wanted to, um." 

Rita shakes her head. "Never mind. It's stupid." She takes a little cloth out of her sweater pocket, pink with yellow dots, and starts polishing her glasses with it. A nervous tic, probably, Vespa recognizes but doesn't say anything about it. 

Instead, she considers. On the one hand, the only person who's supposed to see her like this is Buddy. Definitely not some two-cred secretary that they pulled off the streets of Mars. On the other hand, she knows that having someone with her might, as much as she hates to acknowledge it, be a good idea. Keep her from thinking about  _ it,  _ that awful  _ it.  _

And on the third hand, Rita's giving her  _ that look _ like a kicked puppy, and looking closely Vespa can see what she thinks are tear tracks cutting their way down her flushed cheeks. Maybe it's an elaborate ploy to get Vespa to open up, but hell, there are worse ploys out there. 

"Fine." she mutters, quiet enough that she can barely hear it. 

Rita looks startled. "Wha-huh?"

"I said fine!" Her eyes narrow and she swipes her thumb across her bloody bottom lip. "Fine. You can stay. Afternoon's already ruined, I got nothing better to be doing than spending it with you. But don't expect me to let you psychoanalyze me or anything."

Rita's eyebrows shoot up until they're practically hiding under her knotted headscarf, and she gives a tentative smile. "Okay!" She sounds a little shocked, like she didn't believe that would work. "D'you want I should go and get snacks? Or we could watch a stream, or play cards, or something!" 

"You've gotta be kidding me." How this girl manages to go from  _ my best friend could be dying  _ to  _ girl's night! _ in a matter of seconds, Vespa doesn't think she'll ever understand. Maybe soap operas and salmon dusty crunchies are what  _ Mistah Steel  _ likes when Rita plays therapist, but they're hardly what she needs right now. 

Rita hoists herself up on top of the washing machine. "Okay," she concedes. "No stream. We could just talk?"

"Talk." Vespa rolls her eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not the best  _ conversationalist. _ " She can practically  _ see _ the gears turning inside Rita's head. She expects some kind of platitude or the like, a comment about how she's actually very lovely to talk to when she's not waving around a knife or making death threats. 

Instead, shockingly, the loudmouth secretary shuts up for a few minutes. Long enough that Vespa almost forgets that she's there. Long enough that, when her mind's started to wander again to unkind places, she's startled out of it when Rita says, out of the blue,

"D'you wanna hear about the time that Mistah Steel let a flock of cannibal seagulls into the office?"

Well. Ugh. How could she say no to that. 

  
  


Vespa zones out halfway through the story, just sitting there and letting Rita's meandering narrative and rapid gesticulations sort of wash over her. She lost interest when the ex-PI stopped being the story's fall guy, and she vaguely thinks Rita may have started talking about the plot of a novel she read once, anyway. 

It's oddly nice, having someone just talk at her, just enough distraction to keep her grounded in reality. She can almost, kinda, see how Steel and Sikuliaq tolerate her. 

"So," Rita pauses for breath, her hands still held out in front of her. "then they got into Mistah Steel's leftover chicken curry and started tearing it apart, and I was like, oh my god, they're cannibals, Mistah Steel, we gotta get a documentary crew in here! But he was like—"

"They're not," Vespa interjects. 

Rita lets out that little shriek-laugh again. "How'd you know what he said? Did he tell you this story already? He did, oh my god, don't listen to a word he says Ms. Doctor Ilkay 'cuz he tells it  _ all  _ wrong he doesn't even mention the—"

"Dumbass." She presses her fingers to her eyes. This girl was gonna give her a goddamn migraine or something. "That's not  _ cannibalism. _ "

"Whoa…" Rita looks starstruck. "I didn't think I'd ever see the day that you and the boss agreed on something! He says it's 'cuz they had to do it 'cuz they would've starved otherwise so it ain't cannibalism, but that just don't add up to me 'cuz they could've ate just the rice instead—"

"God, you and your boss are airheads. It's not cannibalism because they're not the same  _ species. _ " She's surprised to find that she's smiling, just a little bit.

Rita tries to look affronted, but it comes out looking more like she's just bit down on something really sour. "Gulls are  _ birds _ , Ms. Doctor Ilkay! An' so is chicken! Honestly, I dunno if I want you to be the one poking around with my bones if you don't know—"

"Do you know what a species is, Rita." 

"Nooo-o," Rita admits with a shrug. "Not if birds and birds ain't the same kinda thing."

"Ugh." Vespa reaches one hand up to grab the edge of the washing machine, slowly pulling herself to her feet. Her legs are still kinda shaky, vision still a little fucked around the edges, but she manages to schlep up onto the washing machine. She sits as far from Rita as possible, just to make it clear that she's  _ not _ enjoying this at all. "Do they not teach you anything back at schools on Mars?"

"Weeeeell, I spent mosta my time in class tryin' to get blackmail material on the principal so I could get double chocolate milks at lunch," Rita says, "so I wouldn't know." 

God help her, Vespa smiles at that, and then a little more when Rita just looks flabbergasted. "Okay," she lets out a long breath. "Okay. So. The definition's changed a lot since the word came into common use a couple millenia ago, what with the whole genetic modification thing. And  _ some _ scientists dispute the use of the word as a whole, and say it's obsolete, and they're  _ dipshits.  _ But the general idea of a species is…"

  
  


When she really thinks about it, as she does during a lull in the conversation, she can’t remember the last time she’s just… talked like this with someone other than Buddy. No threats, no imperatives, no judgement. Of course Buddy’s perfect to talk to, perfect at everything, but something something eggs in a basket. Anyway, she’s surprised at how good a listener Rita is when she shuts up for ten seconds, and she’s surprised at how well she herself has been keeping it together.

Just as she’s starting to explain the conventions of taxonomy, the comms buzzes from where she’d left it on the floor. And the memories of what, exactly, she was trying to ignore, all come rushing back with a surge of panic icy and tight in her chest.

“Um,” says Rita, looking back and forth between Vespa and the comms. “I, uh, I got it?”

Vespa doesn’t respond. She feels like if she tried, she’s not quite sure what exactly would come out of her mouth. So she just sits there, staring like a fucked-up deer in the headlights, nails digging into her palm.

_ She couldn’t text you if she’s dead, V, you know that. But Steel could, or Siquliak, or someone could’ve found her comms and wanted to float to you. Or maybe she’s trying to let you know that she’s been captured, and now they’ve got her at gunpoint, or she’s bleeding out and just wanted to— _

“They’re okay!” Rita says— well, shrieks, really— from across the room. “Captain Buddy says it was a close one but they made it out just fine an’ they’re gonna be back to the ship in half an hour!”

“Oh,” Vespa says, eyes falling shut in relief. She folds over just a little bit, holding herself up on her knees.

Rita laughs. Not the high squawky laugh Vespa’s gotten used to over the last few hours, but colder, a little exasperated. “S’good that they’ll be back soon! I dunno if I could’ve stood another moment around you, Ms. Doctor Ilkay. No offense, I know it ain’t your fault or anything, but you’re pretty painful to be around, you know?”

Vespa straightens up, shoulders pulled back, hand floating near where her knife is strapped. “What the hell did you just say?” 

It’s not like she doesn’t deserve it, like she hadn’t been waiting for the other shoe to drop the whole afternoon, but. Fuck. It still hurts to hear.

“Or— I dunno— if that wasn’t what it was, or if that ain’t the way you like to call it, that’s okay! I didn’t mean to assume nothing, I just, well, that's what I call it, and my friend Frannie, too, told you about her when I was telling you about how the boss’s office window got left open in the first place, but it ain't the same for everyone I know that—"

Oh. Okay. Clearly she's missed something.  _ Play it off, V, you can't let her know you think she'd say something like that or she's gonna realize what the Rita in your head already knew. _

The real Rita's still going a mile per minute, and Vespa makes a mental note to check whether she's got something up with her lungs which make her never have to stop talking. "But also it was nice to be able to, you know, hang out with you 'cuz I feel like we don't ever talk or anything and I know how it is sometimes but it was real nice to hear you talk about the birds and all, you know, I don’t really know that much about you, or about birds now that I think about—“

"No. Rita. Shut  _ up. _ ” God, if the others don’t get back to the ship soon, she thinks she’s going to wear holes clean through her temples and her brain’ll just spill right out. “What did you  _ say _ . Before. I, uh— didn’t hear.” 

“Oh!” Rita blushes, the tips of her ears going a little darker. “Said thanks for, uh, for— infodumpin' to me? And somethin' else, I forgot what it, um, um, oh yeah! Also thanks for listening to me ‘cuz a lotta people don’t like to, you know, they don’t say it but I can tell, and—” 

Her voice has been rising in pitch the whole time, getting faster and faster, too, and by this point she’s doing a passable imitation of a mosquito. “And, um. Oh, hey, your eye's twitching just like Mistah Steel's does when he wants me to stop talking so I guess I should wrap it up, huh, it's just that. I was real worried about Mistah Steel and everyone. So thanks for, for, yeah. Y'know.”

Vespa… doesn’t really know what to say to that. 

Her instinct is telling her that she’s already let too much show, already given too much of herself to someone other than Buddy. But she can’t deny that if the human superball hadn't been around, her afternoon would've been a whole lot shittier. 

And. Ugh. It was just nice to have someone want to listen to her for once. 

She feels more real, in a way. Strangely exposed, now that someone on the ship other than Buddy knows her as something other than the mad doctor. Can't quite tell if she likes it. 

Still. 

"Don't mention it," she says gruffly. "You c'n do your laundry now." 

"Ms. Doctor Ilkay?" Rita sounds almost nervous, quieter in a way that's a little unsettling. 

She nods questioningly. 

"Um. D'you think— are we friends?"

"Kid."  _ Fuck.  _ She doesn't really know what to say now, just knows that Rita's gone back to polishing her glasses with even more nervous fervor.  _ Of course not, I think your boss and his boyfriend might be planning to crash the ship while we sleep? You give me a headache whenever you open your mouth? Why, just 'cuz you kept me from passing out from oxygen deprivation during a panic attack, well that's nothing a well-trained desert dog can't do? _

Rita's still looking at her expectantly. And she realizes the truth. 

"I don't know. I dunno if I've— I don't really know what it means to be friends with someone."  _ Fuckin' pathetic, isn't it,  _ she stops herself from adding. And shit, Rita's gonna laugh at her, probably, or something, but it's really all she could think to say. 

"Weee-ell." She's not laughing yet, at least. "I liked talkin' with you today. Did you, um— yeah, did you think it was okay? It's fine if you hated it, I get that from a lot of people. An' I know I talk too fast and get all worked up about dumb stuff."

A completely unexpected surge of anger makes Vespa breathe in sharply through her nose. Rita looks a little dejected, now, trying and failing to keep a smile on her face.

"You're really gonna make me say it, huh. Yes. Fine. It was fine. It was, fuck. It was nice." She intends to stop there, but her brain and mouth have conflicting ideas. "I don't usually like talking to people, I mean, hah, I figure you know that. And sometimes it gets kinda. You know. Boring. When Buddy's not here or whatever." 

"Well." Rita slides her glasses low on her nose, looks at Vespa over them, puts her thumb and forefinger in a vee against her chin. "You don't mind talkin' to me, you get lonely on here, an' your eye's even stopped twitching! Doctor Rita says the prog-no-sis is we gotta be friends! If you want," she adds as a moderately less hyper afterthought. 

"So what," Vespa scowls. "I gotta come to your room every night and watch streams with you or something? Do your hair and play all buddy-buddy with Ransom and Juno when they're sucking face in the common room?"

"Nope!" Rita shoots her a little smile. "We don't gotta do any of that if you don't want to. We don't even have to talk at all or anythin'. There ain't no contract or checklist, Ms. Doctor Ilkay, we jus' gotta know that we got each others' backs!"

_ Goddamn it, kid, you're too innocent for your own good,  _ she wants to say. Knows it isn't true, probably. She grew up in Hyperion, after all, and it's hardly Outer Rim but it isn't cushy. She helped Steel through who knows how much bullshit, came out the other side still able to see something good in him. 

"It's hard for me," she whispers. Half hopes Rita won't hear it. "Even if I know that you 'got my back' or care about me or whatever, I'm not always gonna be able to… to know it. Or act like it, fuck, whatever. I dunno why you'd want to toss your hat in the ring with me."

"Ain't a ring, Ms. Ilkay," Rita says, matching her quiet tone. "I think you're cool, for sure, and today you were pretty fun to talk to. An' I'm an honest gal, Ms. Ilkay, I can't go sayin' you're  _ sweet  _ or anything yet plus you'd prolly take it as an insult if I know you."  _ Natch _ . "But I don't think you hate us all as much as you pretend to. I seen how you laugh at Jet's jokes when you think he ain't looking. An' that you were real worried about Juno the time that you thought he got blastered."

She lowers her voice even more, like she's letting Vespa in on a secret. "An' today, you know, well, I knew you wasn't gonna stab me or nothin', but you coulda yelled at me. Told me to  _ piss off, Rita _ —" she does an imitation of Juno's voice there that actually gets a startled laugh out of Vespa— "an' I still would've wanted to be your friend. 'Cuz we're all real different and everything, and sometimes we're mean to each other, and we got our bad days an' maybe we ain't exactly always a family but sometimes you just gotta choose to  _ try _ ."

_ Choose to try.  _ Vespa leans back just a little bit, blinks her eyes a few times. It's pretty dusty down here, is all. 

That's all. 

"Fine," she says, dropping the well-practiced growly act entirely. "Be my friend. It's your funeral."

"And what about you?"

"I think I'm getting the better end of the bargain, honestly."

Rita gives a little squeal. "Ms. Doctor Ilkay, that was almos' a compliment right there!"

"You gotta stop calling me that, Rita." She closes her eyes, sighs, and makes a decision. "If you wanna be friends, or whatever. Just call me Vespa."

"'Kay, Ms. Vespa!" Well. Old dog, new tricks, something something. 

They sit there quietly for a little while longer. She's tired, and she knows it's showing. There's dried blood on her lip, and smudged eyeliner running down her cheeks. Her head hurts like hell, but it's awfully quiet in there, at least. There's a nervous lightness inside her chest, one that she doesn't really know what to do with, if anything. 

Eventually, there's a growing noise outside the ship, then the telltale sound of the Ruby docking. Vespa starts to stand up off the washing machine, but has to stop for a second to get her footing. Buddy's gonna make her drink water and take a nap, probably. 

She expects Rita to have run off by the time she opens her eyes again, but she's still standing there, looking at her expectantly.

"Hell're you waiting for?" She jerks her thumb in the direction of the ship door. "Go give 'em a hug or whatever. Tell Buddy I'll be there in a bit."

Rita shakes her head. "If it's all right with ya, Ms. Vespa," she says, "I'd rather wait for you!"

  
  


When the mission debrief is over, she and Buddy head off for their quarters.  _ Finally.  _ A little time alone together and maybe, if she's lucky, a full night's sleep. 

"—was so worried about you, Bud, you idiot, you shouldn't take risks like that!" She's in the middle of reprimanding her when she spots something on her pillow. Long-buried instincts scream out  _ threat threat threat,  _ but she pushes them aside and goes over to investigate.

It's a bracelet, woven from thin strands of thread in three different greens. Surprisingly intricate diamond patterns cross the surface. 

Huh. She ties it around her wrist. 

"What have you got there, Vespa dear?"

"Dunno," she lies. "This was just sitting here. It goes with my color scheme better than yours, though, so…" A yawn cuts off the rest of her sentence. 

"Tired, my darling?"

"Fuckin' exhausted." She yawns again. "God. Bring me with you next time."

"I'm sorry, love. If I had known that you would've called me just then, if I could've thought of anything else..." Buddy sounds so genuinely apologetic that Vespa frowns a little. 

"S'okay, honey. Not the end of the world." She lies down, pulling her shirt over her head and settling under the blankets.

"Was your afternoon perfectly horrible, then? Tomorrow we can spend the day together, try and make up for it." The bed shifts as Buddy climbs in next to her.

"You know what?" She closes her eyes, and finds herself smiling just a little bit. "I'm gonna take you up on that day together, but on the whole… it wasn't too bad."

Buddy might say something like  _ you'll have to tell me all about it tomorrow,  _ but Vespa's already asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> THERE IT IS!! as usual (gill and gilbert voice) kudos. and comment. please? it really means a lot to me 
> 
> you can find me on twitter @vesbud if youre so inclined! if you like the idea of this fic but wish that it had more peter nureyev in it, check out the rest of this series which is about the carte blanche becoming friends. and the other fics have got your twink numero uno in them.


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